nostalgia

Sherbet lemons and pear drops
in big glass jars on looming shelves
of old fashioned shops,
whilst wheelie men and wishing chairs
roamed free in words and screens -
and the wicked witch of the west
sent chills down tiny spines
even through the thickest thermal vest.

Every day, baby bottles
of milk with blue straws in school,
"Isabel has a dairy intolerance
and must have orange barley water, please"!
I took to the book corner;
there my love for characters took flight
as fantastical tales were spun
on golden looms, by people
with names like Rumpelstiltskin!

With princesses, thieves and merry men,
a mighty battle, a marriage - a happy end,
vague recollections swing by my
half-closed eyes like this.
Us feeding ducks by a babbling brook
in Hebden Bridge - "More, please"
I believed, they sang, as Grandma Lil
tucked me up in an old fashioned navy pram.

Before fish and chips as we flicked
through the Saturday night TV,
when Casualty was really Casualty
and Bruce's Price was Always Right.
It was all kiss chase and hair braids,
playground days making daisy chains
and Victorian dress up days,
"7 times 7 equals what, Brittain?"

When days stretched by like a
Never Ending Story
and ballet shows gave me all the
glory I could ever need.
I named my first pet, a guinea pig,
after my Auntie and Butter
and when it died, Pops thought it was
hibernating for days, the rotter!

What precious days these were,
when a plot for running away someday
could be hatched, with only a few coppers
and a gobstopper.